Thinblade (53 page)

“Take a look at Isabel first,” Alexander said. “Abigail, Anatoly, help me round up some horses. We might as well ride.”

Chapter 44

They skirted around the edge of town in the darkness. Alexander didn’t want to risk another encounter. Truss would no doubt look for any chance to make trouble and the man in black was still somewhere behind them. Alexander had no interest in meeting him face to face. He was alert and wary. This city was hostile territory as far as he was concerned, at least until the Regent accepted his authority.

The thing that weighed heaviest on his mind was how to approach the palace and the current government. Jack seemed to think that the Regent would accept his authority on the strength of the mark on his neck and the legend that the line of Ruatha would be remade. Alexander was less sure. He did know for certain that the manner of his introduction to the people, the nobles, and the Regent of New Ruatha would have a great deal of impact on how he would be received. Alexander realized that he was looking at the situation like a fight: thrust, parry, riposte. He had the initiative. His objective was clear. He decided to act like a king and brazenly take his throne rather than ask for it. He wasn’t sure about the arena of politics, but he knew that in a fight, showing weakness was the surest path to defeat.

His plan was risky. If the Regent had already made a deal, or if he decided to deny Alexander his claim, he’d have to fight his way out of the palace. Not a prospect with good odds of success. But the alternative seemed sure to fail. If he went to the Wizards Guild first and then to the palace it would look like he didn’t believe his claim to the throne was valid. Perception was key. Everyone had to know with certainty that Alexander had no doubt about his rightful place as the King of Ruatha. Any doubt he showed would infect the populace with uncertainty.

Alexander had just convinced himself that the risk was worth it, when they came to the east road leading into the city. A flyer pinned to a post caught his eye. He moved up next to it and tore the parchment from where it hung. It was a sketch drawing of him and Abigail. There was a reward for their capture, dead or alive, in the amount of a thousand gold sovereigns. The bounty notice went on to claim that they were traitors to the Sovereign of the Seven Isles, Prince Phane Reishi. It listed a whole litany of crimes including the murder of their parents, horse theft, and was finally punctuated with a charge of incest. Alexander’s blood boiled. This was likely the work of Truss.

He handed the flyer to Anatoly while he fumed, trying to find reason through his anger. Did this change his plan or was it just a distraction? He needed the power the throne would give him to raise an army. Without a united Ruathan army, Phane would pick off one territory at a time and Alexander would fail.

Anatoly frowned at the wanted poster. “This could be a problem. Even if the Regent doesn’t buy into these charges, there are likely to be opportunists who will take a shot at you just for the gold.” Anatoly handed it to Jack.

Jack looked it over quickly. “Huh, it’ll take some doing, but I can have this made into a lie by the end of the week.”

Abigail took it out of his hands when she saw her likeness on the page. She stared in disbelief at the list of charges. “Who would do such a thing? These are all lies,” Abigail raged a little more loudly than Alexander would have liked.

Jack motioned for her to keep her voice down. “Of course they’re lies. Lies are the stock in trade of our enemies. But they’re amateurs when it comes to swaying public opinion. They seek to buy loyalty, which is an appeal to the baser nature of people. Some will respond to such an offer but they will not speak openly of it. Our enemies fail to grasp the true yearning in the hearts of men. People want to believe in ideals that make their souls sing. They want the feeling of being a part of something great and noble.

“By the end of the week every minstrel and bard in all of New Ruatha will be singing the song of Lord Alexander and his triumphant return to redeem the Ruathan royal line and to save the people of our fair city from the scourge of Prince Phane.” Jack smiled and tapped his coat pocket. “I’ve already got the first verses written. A few hours of polish and practice and I can start teaching my bards the story and the music. By this time tomorrow, every bar, inn, ale house, public house, tavern, and town square will be filled with your song. Within a few days, these flyers will all be torn down and ripped to scrap by angry citizens who want to believe in the promise you represent.”

Alexander shook his head. “Do you really think it will be that simple?”

Jack laughed. “Simple? No, not at all. Propaganda is a fine art, but it’s more powerful than magic when properly employed. It can move the masses to believe in something. In the end, large numbers of people who are willing to die for a cause they fervently believe in will always carry the day. And, it doesn’t hurt that you actually do stand for principles worthy of their loyalty.”

Anatoly, ever the pragmatist, asked, “So what do we do between now and then? The way it looks to me, Alexander’s likely to be slapped in irons the first time a city guard lays eyes on him.”

Alexander’s rage settled into a low boil in the pit of his stomach but he didn’t try to extinguish it; instead, he fed it. He wanted to be mad. He would need the anger before the night was through.

“We take the throne room.”

Everyone looked at him like he was a bit crazy.

“Lucky, I want you to go to the Wizards Guild and tell the Guild Mage that I respectfully request his presence in the throne room. Tell him to bring a handful of trusted wizards and come ready for a fight.”

He took the poster from Abigail and folded it into quarters, then pulled his long knife, sliced the edge of his hand to draw blood and smeared it on the parchment. He let it dry just slightly while he wrapped his hand and then pressed the parchment to the scarred mark on his neck. When he held it up to the light the effect was exactly what he wanted: his mark in blood on the back of a wanted poster. He handed it to Lucky.

“Give him this,” Alexander said. “Once you arrive, ask him to send a messenger to Owen at the Bards Guild. I want as many bards as he can round up to come to me in the throne room as well.”

Jack took out his little tablet and quickly scrawled a note telling Owen just what was needed and handed the scrap of paper to Lucky. Lucky tucked it into a pocket and gave Alexander a clap on the shoulder and a smile before trotting off into the city.

“Jack, we need to get into the palace without being discovered,” Alexander said.

Jack bowed at the waist with a little grin, “By your command, My Lord.”

Jack led them into the city, using small side streets that didn’t look very well traveled. For all the lights on the central plateau and the main streets, the path Jack took was dark and shadowy. They made their way down alleys behind buildings and only rarely encountered people. They wound up on a little dock that ran along the riverfront with water on the right and a ten-foot stone wall on the left. It wasn’t long before they came to an iron grate that covered a sewer drain in the side of the sea wall. Jack stopped and dismounted. He fiddled with the lock for only a moment or two and it came open. Alexander frowned. He’d never actually seen anyone pick a lock before and he was astonished to see just how quickly it could be done.

“I’m afraid the path isn’t very pleasant, but it will get us where we want to go,” Jack said before he entered the dark and foul-smelling passage.

They wandered through the underground of the city for hours by torchlight before coming to a series of stairs. Periodically, they were slowed by locked grates but Jack was able to open them relatively quickly each time. Stairs took them upwards into the bowels of the central plateau until they came to an entirely different level of passageways that ran under the palace. Jack navigated without hesitation or error and finally brought them to a ladder.

“The hatch at the top of this ladder will open to the palace servants’ passageways. From there the throne room is not far. It will probably not be guarded, since it’s rarely used. We should be able to slip in before anyone knows we’re here.” Jack paused and cleared his throat. “May I ask what your plan is once we reach the throne room?” Anatoly nodded to echo Jack’s question.

Anger was still slowly bubbling in the pit of Alexander’s stomach. Anger at the burden of duty and responsibility that had been placed on his life, anger at the cost to his family, anger at the very existence of Prince Phane and all that he stood for. Alexander set his pack down and took out the finery he’d worn at the banquet in Glen Morillian. He took off his traveling tunic and cloak and donned the midnight blue tunic and cloak with the fine silver filigree. Then he checked his sword to make sure it was loose in its scabbard. Only after he’d changed clothes and cinched the straps of his pack did he answer. His companions were all watching him when he stood and faced them.

“I plan to take the authority that has been so rudely thrust upon me,” he said quietly but with intensity and an undercurrent of anger. “I plan to claim the throne. I plan to demand that the Regent bow to my authority and kiss my ring.”

Anatoly raised an eyebrow. The old man-at-arms understood anger. He could see it dancing in Alexander’s gold-flecked eyes. He was also his protector and he had a duty to question decisions made in anger. “If the Regent refuses?” he asked.

Alexander smiled with absolutely no humor. “You’d better be ready to fight.” He held Anatoly’s eyes for just long enough to see that his old mentor understood his resolve before turning to Jack. “And you’d better be ready to talk.” Jack nodded.

He looked to his sister and Isabel. “Are you with me?”

Abigail snorted derisively as she slung her bow across her back. “What do you think?”

Isabel put her hand on his chest and looked him in the eye without a word. Her eyes were so beautiful, so filled with intelligence, and so fierce all at once. He gently took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist before turning to the ladder and starting his ascent.

It was a long climb, easily forty feet or more. At the top was a little platform off to the side with a much shorter ladder leading up to the trapdoor. He didn’t hesitate. When he lifted the heavy wooden door, he saw that it opened in the floor of a long, dimly lit, bare-stone corridor. He raised the door farther and climbed into the hall, carefully laying the door onto the floor to avoid making any noise. The hall looked to be exactly what Jack said it was. It was unadorned and purely functional, yet clean and frequently used.

In short order, they were all up the ladder and into the little passageway. Jack took only a moment to orient himself before leading the way down the hall. He led them around a few twists and turns before stopping at a large door.

“Here we are. This is one of the servants’ entrances to the throne room. From the looks of it, the room is dark,” Jack said, lifting a taper from the glass-enclosed candle sconce on the wall next to the door. He eased the door open gently to a quiet room that had the look and feel of a place that hadn’t been used in a long time.

Jack held the candle high and strolled in. The room was big, probably fifty feet wide and a hundred feet long. The arched ceiling was easily fifty feet high at the apex. At one end was a raised dais of white marble shot through with black. Each of the five steps was a half circle that met the back wall. In the center of the dais was a large, ornately carved, jewel-encrusted, gold throne. To each side was a chair of lesser size but equal ornamentation. Behind the throne was a heavy, red velvet curtain that hung from a brass rail twenty feet up on the wall. Sewn into the curtain in gold thread was the crest of Ruatha.

High-backed, heavy wooden chairs lined the long sides of the room with ornate brass sconces holding finely crafted oil lamps above them. Between each sconce hung a rich and vibrantly colored tapestry depicting scenes from the distant past. The floor was pure white marble polished to a mirror shine and covered with a thin layer of dust. Running from the base of the dais down the center of the room to the large double doors at the far end was a plush, deep-red carpet with gold embroidery along the edges. All in all, it was about what Alexander expected a throne room to look like.

Jack began lighting the lamps along the wall with his taper. As the lamps brightened the room, the colors of the tapestries stood out in contrast to the simple white of the floor.

“All right, we probably don’t have much time. Isabel, I want you in the chair to the right of the throne, and make sure that medallion your father gave you is visible. Abigail, you take the chair to the left. Both of you keep your bows handy. Anatoly, I want you to stand just to the left of Abigail. Jack, you will be just to the right of Isabel.”

Alexander strode to the throne and inspected the area. He looked behind the heavy red and gold curtain and saw that it hung a good three feet from the wall and concealed a door as well as a heavy iron bar leaning against the wall. He dropped the bar into place to prevent anyone from entering the room through that door. That left the double doors at the other end of the room and the servants’ doors in the middle of each long wall.

When he saw the heavy, red, rope pull cord that blended in with the curtain, he almost laughed. “Jack, is this a bell?”